


What they Aren’t Saying

by vega_voices



Series: Sleeps with Butterflies [35]
Category: CSI, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:12:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When they married, he promised her she’d always be the most important thing in his life. Standing in the doorway to the living room, watching her through the glass doors that lead to the balcony, he realizes not only that he was breaking the vow but until this excavation was finished, he’d keep breaking it.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	What they Aren’t Saying

**Title:** What they Aren’t Saying  
 **Author:** vegawriters  
 **Fandom:** CSI  
 **Rating:** Mature  
 **Timeframe:** Pre- _Risky Business Class_ , but definitely 13th season.  
 **A/N:** Part of the [Sleeps with Butterflies](http://vega-voices.livejournal.com/tag/sleeps%20with%20butterflies) universe.  
 **Disclaimer:** You know the drill. I don't own any of this and make no money from it. That being said, if CSI is looking for a devoted writer ...

 **Summary:** _When they married, he promised her she’d always be the most important thing in his life. Standing in the doorway to the living room, watching her through the glass doors that lead to the balcony, he realizes not only that he was breaking the vow but until this excavation was finished, he’d keep breaking it._

She’s smoking when he enters the living room. He can see her through the sliding door, sipping at a cup of coffee and taking long drags of the cigarettes she’s never quite quit. At least now she only smokes when she’s stressed, which doesn’t help his thought process. There are a million reasons she could be stressed and all he can do is wrack his brain to figure out if she mentioned anything. The truth is, he’s been a shitty husband the last few months. The discovery of a second mass grave sent the whole team into a tizzy. This was a discovery with his name on it. This was history he was a part of. But his excitement had come with a price. Sara still needed to work in Vegas to maintain the house they didn’t want to let go of. Since switching from a consultant back to a full time county employee (because the taxes had been killing them) she couldn’t square the time off she’d once taken at her leisure. Plane fares had risen exponentially so meeting once a month had moved to every couple of months to now, he hadn’t seen her since summer. He’d even had to hear that it was unlikely she would ever conceive at this point over the phone rather than at least face-to-face through Skype. Her anniversary call had been lost in his million voice mails and he’d barely called her back that same day. When they married, he promised her she’d always be the most important thing in his life. Standing in the doorway to the living room, watching her through the glass doors that lead to the balcony, he realizes not only that he was breaking the vow but until this excavation was finished, he’d keep breaking it.

Toeing off his shoes and dropping his duffel bag, he moves through the living room. He’d told her he’d get his own ride home since she was on call and he didn’t want to risk being stuck at the airport. Now he wished he’d taken her up on the offer. Now it was like it had been years ago; he could see her through glass but not quite touch her. He thought they’d worked through all of this years ago and, like years ago, this distance was his fault. She is always willing to talk through their issues. He is the one who clams up. It makes sense in a way. She survived her parent’s train wreck of a marriage, she doesn’t want history to repeat itself. He just remembers his mother’s silence.

When he opens the door she raises her head and in that moment, everything is okay. She tosses the cigarette into the ashtray and launches herself at him hard enough that they both tumble back through the open door toward the couch. Clothes come off (she’s just in a robe) and before they even say “Hello” he’s buried deep inside her body and she’s digging her nails into his shoulder. She tastes like coffee and cigarettes and a hint of something sweet and the mating ritual lasts only minutes. When she collapses against him, they both start laughing.

“One of these days we’re going to kill each other tripping over doors,” she says by way of hello. He kisses her and strokes her hair back over her shoulder. It’s grown and he likes it. Her body, so familiar to him, feels different and he realizes one of the nipple rings is gone. The older one. And her nipple looks puffy. She follows his gaze and one shoulder lifts in a shrug. “Dog hair got caught and I missed it. Before I know it I’m on antibiotics and don’t want to bother re-piercing through the scar tissue.”

He shakes his head and leans forward to kiss her breast. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She is silent and he realizes he is still inside of her and this conversation is about more than an infection he didn’t get to hear about so instead he kisses her and is glad she’s feeling better and this time the coupling is slower and far more gentle. She comes harder than before and when he settles on top of her, still nestled in her body, he realizes how much he wants to come home.

So why doesn’t he?

She groans he moves off of her. Their bodies come apart and her wincing reminds him of just how long it’s been since they had sex. It’s always been part of their lives, an active conversation in who they are as a couple, and now even that is lacking. A breath and she’s gone into the bathroom and when she emerges, the robe is still loose but she’s smiling at him. “Welcome home.”

He chuckles and beckons her closer. She obeys, grabbing a blanket from the nearby chair, and they cuddle up together. “I’ve missed you,” he replies. He means it with every sonnet he could quote to her. The blanket is tucked around them and the words fail before post-coital sleep takes them. He’s jet lagged. She worked at least part of the night.

Somewhere around noon he wakes. Hank is at his feet. Sara is in the kitchen, making a second pot of coffee. She’s dressed in one of his old shirts and a tattered pair of jeans and her hair is up in that ponytail he loves so much. “I think maybe now we can do our hellos properly,” he says with a smile as she walks over and hands him a Las Vegas PD coffee mug.

“Oh, that wasn’t proper enough for you?” She is teasing. She takes a seat on the ottoman, tucking her endlessly long legs under her, and for a minute he stares at her ring finger. He knows she’s happy with just the gold wedding band, but what would it mean to have given her an engagement ring? To have proposed over dinner with wine and candles and not with bees settling on her hand? It was perfect for them, he knows, but sometimes he wishes he could give her more of those traditional married-life joys.

The thoughts fly through his head in a nanosecond and he’s looking back into her eyes. “Oh, I could get used to that all the time.” He pauses. And tries. “Are you still on those antibiotics?”

“No,” she shrugs. “It was a couple of months ago. I think I just forgot to mention it. There were other things going on and you know, my nipple rings aren’t a top priority.”

“For you, maybe.”

She chuckles and blushes and he smiles and she moves from the ottoman to the couch. The conversation drifts. Nick’s got a girlfriend and a dog. Hodges has been acting cagey. Catherine sent an email and she’s settling in really well to DC and Lindsey might be transferring to a performing arts university in California. He tells her about the dig and a young scientist who is part of the new crew. There is a look in her eyes when he mentions Ella and it isn’t hard to figure out she’s upset that there is money for new scientists but she has to stay in Vegas.

And then she says it. It comes as a surprise even though the foreshadowing was there in her eyes.

“I thought we were partners, Gil.” He stares at her and she sighs. “Sorry. I wanted to wait at least a day before pouncing on that.”

“We are, Sara.”

Another sigh. “I don’t want to fight about this.”

“I’m not even sure what we’re fighting about. Or not fighting about.”

“First it was the Sorbonne.” She rubs her eyes and he watches her fingers. “And then it was Peru. And in between there have been our own trips and our own work together. But I came back to Vegas to wait on a research grant. One that is still pending, partly because you’re spending so much time overseas.”

Silence. Dead, angry silence. He sits in shock, processing what she’s not saying. It isn’t about the grant. They’ve covered other, little versions of their overarching idea. They’re working up to the big one that is pending, the one that will let them trace physical and biological forensics all over the country. Until then, they go on digs and send time with other research groups. He knows that she’s documenting a lot of her work with the county for work in their project. No, this is about the fact that he brought up Ella. It doesn’t matter that Ella is married and no interested in him, she’s still the other woman. The one who sits next to him late at night, staring at evidence. He understands why Sara’s upset and he understands why she gets off the couch and walks up the stairs to their bedroom. It is his cue to follow and he does, quickly, calling her name.

She’s flopped onto his side of the bed and for a second he wonders if he even has his own side of the bed anymore. Sara now sleeps alone, and that means she can take up as many covers and pillows as she wants. She can sprawl, like she likes to do. After a long minute, she looks up at him. “Ella, hmm?”

“Sara.”

“I’m not accusing you of cheating on me.” The words are clipped and he wonders if she is. He wonders if anyone is turning her head. Greg is still in love with her, anyone can see that. What about that new guy over at the DA’s office, the one who took her for drinks after their last case together? He isn’t jealous, he’s realizing for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t know how to start a conversation with her. And then, as she is prone to do, she surprises him. “Remember when you went back to Vegas after our time together in San Francisco?”

Of course he does. The worst few years of his life, always being worried about what Dan was going to do to her. Then, she started up with that guy, Doug was it? He was good for her. But Grissom remembers Dan. He remembers the bruises and the fear that some fucking cop would leave her vulnerable at a scene.

“Remember the emails we’d send?” Her voice is far away. “These long, rambling emails. We were both so busy but we’d still send these emails. And we’d always ask each other these crazy questions at the end, like if we believed in aliens or something. And we always signed them with love, even if it was only a one-liner.”

“I love you, Sara. You know that.” He isn’t sure why he’s feeling defensive.

“I’m not saying otherwise.” He isn’t looking at her anymore but he can hear her rolling her eyes at him. So he looks at her again and she’s sitting up now, still on his side of the bed. He joins her. She links their hands. He looks at their rings. Matching gold bands. Hers inscribed with the day they met. “I’m saying maybe the things that worked for us once before need to be tried again.”

Silence. He isn’t arguing, but he knows what she’s saying. That they need to communicate more. He needs to answer his phone, his texts, his emails. He needs to call her like he used to, before he got used to sleeping alone in a tent in Peru. He needs to ask her dumb questions for the hell of it. There was a time she used to send him pictures of her piercings and tattoos. When was the last time he opened an attachment to find a picture of her breasts?

They’ve become too comfortable with each other, too reliant that the other will always be there. No, he’s become too reliant on her. She still wakes up every day expecting him to have disappeared into some abyss. How do they keep coming back to places like this?

Downstairs, the clock ticks.

Sara sighs and runs her thumb along his wedding ring. He stills her hand and instead raises it to his lips. He’s here tonight, only tonight. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and before dinner is even over he’s got a plane ticket back to Peru. The camp is waiting.

But what’s more important?

She has tears in her eyes and he brings her in close to his body, wrapping her in his arms. Despite her height, she’s always been so slight compared to him. An ash tree, bending, growing strong no matter where she’s planted.

“What reality show is better,” he asks, “Top model or project runway?”

There. The beginning. He can promise nothing beyond right now. She is still tense but she is not pushing him away. In fact, she is laughing quietly, recognizing his attempt. It isn’t what they need to discuss, but it’s a start. And just like with a crime scene or a research site, you have to begin somewhere.


End file.
